This modern art of love uses a vast amount of evangelical phrases in
the service of the Devil. Passion is martyrdom. Both parties aspire to
the Ideal, to the Infinite; love is to make them so much better. All
these fine words are but a pretext for putting increased ardor into
the practical side of it, more frenzy into a fall than of old. This
hypocrisy, a characteristic of the times, is a gangrene in gallantry.
The lovers are both angels, and they behave, if they can, like two
devils.
Love had no time for such subtle analysis between two campaigns, and
in 1809 its successes were as rapid as those of the Empire. So, under
the Restoration, the handsome Baron, a lady's man once more, had begun
by consoling some old friends now fallen from the political firmament,
like extinguished stars, and then, as he grew old, was captured by
Jenny Cadine and Josepha.
Madame Marneffe had placed her batteries after due study of the
Baron's past life, which her husband had narrated in much detail,
after picking up some information in the offices. The comedy of modern
sentiment might have the charm of novelty to the Baron; Valerie had
made up her mind as to her scheme; and we may say the trial of her
power that she made this morning answered her highest expectations.
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